It was the start of something she resented all too bitterly, like some undeserved punishment everyone else thought of as a kindness. Not that she couldn't understand why. She, Clara Roerden, born third daughter of Sir Robert and the late Matilda, was to be married to a Duke, and one in the king's favor no less. She, who had been reminded nearly each day of her life since she was able to comprehend it, that it was her duty to marry as she was bid and thus serve her family by joining it's name powerfully to that of another, knew all too well how 'fortunate' she was.
Fortunate. Ha! She turned the word over in her mouth with a snort, not caring of the looks she received from her maids as they finished her hair. Most unladylike, she was sure, were the words that were being exchanged by the looks they sent each other. No matter, for today she would indulge in all the behaviors she knew would no longer be her luxury in the company of the stranger that was to be her husband and lord. She would gobble sweets and drink wine with abandon, laugh loudly and make crude mannish remarks, all before her corset was tightened around her ribcage and her life.
"All finished, miss", spoke Lilly, interrupting her revery, turning her around to reveal her beautiful hair, a fine curly shock of deep red, well arranged atop her head, with pearls throughout to catch the eye. A few wisps here and there escaped, drawing a glance towards her long graceful neck. Even Clara had to smile.
"Thank you, Lily, Meredith", she exclaimed, truly grateful. "It is beautiful. All that remains to be done now is jewelry. What do you think, Meredith? Emeralds?"
"I should say so, miss. They match your eyes perfectly, and they were a gift from the duke, after all."
The set from her fiance. Of course that's what she should wear. It was quite lovely actually, a fine collar of square cut emeralds with earrings to match. The only thing more becoming than the gift itself was the note that accompanied it: " I hear that you eyes are dead match for these stones, so naturally, these jewels made me think of you. With them, I send sincere well wishes, and anxious desire to finally behold you in person."
It had been well written, signed in his own hand, even. It was not as though the resentment she had stored within her was aimed toward the duke; Edmund, as he bid her call him in his writing, had been the kindest part of an arrangement that otherwise felt as cold and stiff as stone. No, he was not the blame; it was for her father that she felt the stirring nausea of betrayal, that he could trade her off, sell her, as it were, and without a single look back. With that came a knock at the door.
"Clara, are you ready, child?", she heard her Aunt Alice say, "He's waiting on you; you know how restless he gets when he's the first one ready."
Ugh! Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her father's impatience, his insistence that she be flawless and fast in the same quietly drawn breath, it was infuriating. But, she digressed: such was the world when you felt you ruled it, and that was the feeling of most men; hence her hesitance to marry and gain a new master. She had it on good authority that he had been a different man when her mother was still alive, and that love of her had tendered him. However, not being able to remember him or associate tenderness with the man he was now did little for her faith in the temperance of men. Really, save for her dear uncle, Nathan, who was also gone now, she could not truly say she had known tenderness in a man.
"The door is open, my lady, please come in. I am almost done."
" That is no good, Clara. You know how he is; his hands are itching for his reins at this very moment!" Alice chided, nervously glancing toward the window. This would never do. Her brother in law was by no means what one would consider a patient man. He would bring the roof down on the poor girls' head had he any inkling that she was still not done dressing. Somewhere in the midst of these thoughts, she took a sideways glance at her niece in her grand dress of bold green with gems in the bodice; before God! What a likeness she was to Tilly! She'd have been so proud. Alice had always envied Matilda her red hair, even if Tilly had insisted that her deep brunette was much prettier. Her sister had been a stunningly attractive woman, and now, with nearly the same proud stance and deeply striking features, so was Clara. Taking her niece's lovely appearance into account, the crease in Alice's brow softened considerably, taking the hardness out of her eyes and allowing room for a small smile.
"Well, at least it is for a purpose you are so long in dressing," she reasoned, her smile becoming broader. " He won't be so angry when he sees what a beautiful daughter he's taking to the palace with him."
"Thank you, my lady, I do hope he'll be pleased", Clara replied honestly, glowing under the praise of the woman she thought of as a mother. " Do you truly think I'll be forgiven when he sees me? I have been quite long in preparing."
"Of course, child," Alice reassured her, brushing her worries to the wind with a wave of her hand. " You know, your mother was the same way when it came to dressing for balls and reveries. Nothing was ever right until everything was just so. Oh, your father pretended he was annoyed, but when she would finally descend from the stairs, you couldn't tell him his wife wasn't the fairest creature ever born! Ha! He loved her more than I think he could possibly explain."
"Really?", Clara said, not quite believing that the man her aunt described would be the same man waiting in front of the manor for them.
"I know it's hard to believe, but love has strange affects on a man," Alice explained. She could understand that it was hard for Clara to fathom that the cold, cumbersome man she now knew as her father had once been a young man in love to the point of distraction. But then, how many men could she herself say that for? So many of the stiff, forthright, nobles she knew had once been young men thoroughly devoted to one wife or sweetheart or another, but with the passage and cruel uncertainty of time, she had seen the sun set on them as well. Yes, love had a strange affect on a man, one that could only be equaled and reversed by the loss of it.
"I've no doubt you will soon witness the truth of that", Alice hinted, a glimmer of teasing dancing in her mossy green eyes. They were a family trait, those bright green eyes, as she had told Clara many times, passed on from her mother's antecedents, who in whispered talk were of strong irish stock. Her sister, with those same eyes, had entranced Sir Robert Roerden of Surrey, and now her niece, she was sure, would entice Sir Edmund Riley, the next Duke of Sussex with a hypnotic gaze of her own.
" We shall see, my lady", Clara answered half-heartedly. She didn't dare get into her misgivings on that subject now, when they were about to pass the night in the company of King Henry and his wife Queen Katharine. No, tonight was not the night for a lecture on a woman's duty, or on how fortunate she was, or even how unavoidable this entire situation was. Tonight was a night for making impressions, for making new and important acquaintances. Played right, it would be a night for making lasting memories. With this in mind, before her aunt could respond, she took one last glance in the mirror before grabbing her cloak and striding toward the door.
"Shall we go, madam?" she invited, heading out the door as she spoke. She heard her aunt step lively behind her, giving quiet orders to her maids before closing the door behind them. Then they were down the stairs, headed toward the door where her father waited for them in a carriage.
"You be sure and be on your toes tonight, my child", warned Alice, " the right words in the right moments, and you never know, you may end up a lady in service of the Queen herself. She just appointed two other young women coming from the french court. The right breeding and sophistication can get you in the door, although I have a feeling your kind of breeding is something she might prefer more than that of these girls."
"Perhaps, madam. I shall do my best", Clara promised. " The french court, you said? These are English girls, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are," Alice responded, " I think their father is somewhat acquainted with yours. His name is Thomas Boleyn. From what I hear, his older daughter had caught the eye of the king of france while she was there, and her younger sister was much celebrated in the french court. They sound a bit easy in their virtue for my liking, but never mind that. Let us be out the door, and see for ourselves."